


The Dethklok Hologram Personal Projector System

by walkwithursus



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: As though they don't have cameras in the lab, Barbecue, Charles knows everything, Destruction, Loneliness, M/M, Mischief, One Shot, Silly, Swearing, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 22:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13199559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkwithursus/pseuds/walkwithursus
Summary: I do appreciate your simplistic views of smashing that which you don't understand.-Eric JomfruWith unlimited funding and lax regulations, Dethklok's scientists are able to engineer brutal new technology at the drop of a hat. However, Nathan is not overly fond of their hologram communication system, particularly after band manager Charles begins to rely too heavily on it to stay in touch with the boys. When an opportunity to change the dynamics of band-to-manager communication presents itself, Nathan is powerless to resist.





	The Dethklok Hologram Personal Projector System

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by a tumblr prompt sent by little-murmaider. The prompt was "Missing someone." Obviously I played a little fast and loose with it.

Nathan had to admit, the Dethklok Hologram Personal Projector was a pretty cool invention. 

He couldn’t remember who had originally proposed the idea, if it had been one of his bandmates or something the Dethklok scientists had engineered on their own, but either way it was awesome. When the invention had first been unveiled, he and the guys had spent several days messing around with it, standing in the individual projectors the Klokateers had installed in their bedrooms and popping up in each other’s rooms, in Charles’ office, in the kitchens, in the library, in the recording studio, pretty much wherever a Dethklok Hologram Personal Projector was installed, day or night. There was just something special about being able to pop into Murderface's room in the middle of the night and scare him so badly he pissed himself, or drop in on Skwisgaar and send his groupies running for the door. Best of all was Knubbler, who never got desensitized to the holograms and was liable to jump from his chair every time someone projected into the recording studio unannounced. 

Yet for all the initial excitement, it wasn’t long before the band lost interest. Using the projector involved standing in the designated body scanning chamber, and to be perfectly honest, it took a lot of effort to get up sometimes. Not to mention it was kind of cramped, and pretty soon they figured out how to block each other’s calls, so by and large the projectors fell into disuse. 

Well, for the most part.

Predictably, Charles Offdensen still used the hologram system. Mordhaus was expansive, and even with short cuts and passageways, the journey from the central control room to the main living room was a good ten minutes, and the trek from his office a solid five. It was significantly faster to project a 3D image of himself to the band than to track them down to whichever room they were in at any given moment. Moreover, the hologram system was useful when they were separated. The Dethklok Hologram Personal Projector system allowed for Charles to stay behind at Mordhaus while the boys traveled, and no matter which vehicle they chose he was never more than a button-press away. It was good time management, and if there was anything Charles was sure of, it was that good time management and good business went hand in hand.

Nathan didn’t understand any of that, of course. It wasn’t his job to care about time management, or good business, or the sheer unmanageable size of their multi-compound fortress home. All he knew was that the sight of Offdensen’s stupid, 3D red face had been pissing him off for awhile now, and the feelings weren’t going away.

Something about the way the manager looked, the way he sounded through the projector had become practically unbearable over the past few weeks, and it was starting to affect Nathan’s overall mood. Every time someone buzzed the guy he felt his stupid hopes get up, as though this time for _sure_ Charles would come to address them in person. That never seemed to actually happen, though, and recently Nathan was starting to come away from each interaction disappointed, spurned, with the red outline of their manager branded onto the backs of his eyelids. 

Which was why Nathan had fucked around with the hologram system. 

Not that it had been intentional. He hadn’t gone down to the lab specifically looking to damage the master machine, or whatever it was called. It just sort of happened that way. Fate, or whatever. 

Nathan had asked Knubbler to have some tracks burned onto water for him, and he figured that since it had been a few hours the H.E.A.R.D. was probably finished, and they’d be ready for pick up. So he’d taken the liberty of going down to get them himself. 

It was just a coincidence that the Klokateers had been doing some maintenance on the hologram machinery at the same time. He hadn’t even known what the thing was for until they’d explained it to him a few times, and once he understood what it did he’d had every intention of leaving it alone. Until the Klokateers stepped away, leaving the belly of the giant cylindrical machine exposed to the front man, wires and panels and switches and blinking lights that drew him in like a magnet. 

It had only been then, staring at the flashing red lights of the master machine that he’d recalled Charles’ 3D face and 3D voice, explaining to the band that if they needed to reach him over the next few days he’d prefer they contact him via hologram. And, well, _that_ pissed him off. Who the fuck was Charles to dictate how they spoke to him? And what was the deal, anyway? Did he really hate them that much that he didn’t want to see them in person? Well, fuck that, and fuck Charles, and fuck the hologram machine, right? 

Scowling, Nathan had tossed the tube of water containing the tracks he’d wanted into the guts of the machine. The glass shattered, and a shower of orange sparks _whooshed_ into the air as the liquid track seeped across the wires and paneling. Nathan had took one look at his handiwork before the machine spat boiling hot water back at him, and without a moment’s hesitation he'd turned and sprinted for the elevators.

That had been several hours ago, and in that time no one had tried to call Offdensen. 

Nathan sure as hell didn’t want to be the one to do it. The call buttons contained fingerprint scanners, so whoever pressed it was usually the one to get the brunt of the manager’s attention. Which normally wasn’t a bad thing -- in fact, Nathan rather enjoyed when the conversation revolved around him. But given that he may or may not have broken the entire Dethklok Hologram Personal Projector system, this wasn’t exactly the visit he’d want to be responsible for. Besides, it was only a matter of time before one of the others needed Offdensen for something, so all he had to do was sit back and be patient. No problem.

It wasn’t that hard. Nathan didn’t have a whole lot of head room to think about multiple things at once, so as long as he kept himself occupied Offdensen stayed far away from his thoughts. The day progressed, and he played a round of golf with the guys, watched some TV, ate some lunch, and all seemed pretty okay. No one called Offdensen, and as far as he knew, Offdensen didn't try to call them. The projectors stayed quiet, their Dethphones stayed quiet, the Klokateers stayed quiet, and Charles didn't drop by in person, all signs Nathan took to mean the incident with the hologram machine had yet to be discovered. 

It wasn’t until late afternoon that things started to unravel. 

The guys had decided they should spend the rest of the day getting some much needed R&R, and while he’d been all for it at the time it was suggested, Nathan now found himself unable to enjoy the downtime. The sun was shining, the burgers were grilling, and he’d nabbed his favorite lawn chair to lounge on in the front yard, but with nothing to do but sit and think Nathan’s thoughts turned inevitably toward Charles.

It was almost weird that they hadn’t heard from him by now. On an average day they’d usually have called him a few times by mid-afternoon, so it was probably not good that they’d gone so long without doing so. If -- well, not if -- _when_ Charles found out about the busted hologram system, wouldn’t he be more suspicious of the band knowing they hadn’t tried contacting him all day? Almost as though they’d _known_ it was broken? If that were the case, it was probably in Nathan’s best interest to press the call button, to throw Charles off his scent. Because surely he wouldn’t press it if he knew it wouldn’t work. 

It was lucky he’d sat so close to the button, then. The little red dot was an arm’s length away, fixed onto the edge of the wooden picnic table. Nathan stretched his arms out in imitation of a yawn, and with the tip of his index finger pressed it down. 

The projector station under the Yew tree was quiet, and for a moment Nathan thought nothing would happen -- but then he heard it. The little _pew-zzzzz_ , the sound the projector made when Offdensen’s image was buzzing through. Nathan glanced up just in time to catch a hazy red blip, vaguely human shaped and standing in the exact spot Charles’ image should have appeared. The features were indistinguishable, wavy red light that hurt to look at, and after a second it glitched out and vanished. 

“Hey, was that Offdensen?” Pickles asked from his lawn chair, glancing over the shades of his sunglasses toward the tree. 

Nathan shrugged and took a sip of his drink to keep his face neutral; lemonade to go with the relaxation theme of the day, with a little vodka to round it off. No one else seemed to notice the small interruption. Toki and Murderface were speaking heatedly about Murderface’s latest endorsement deal, while Skwisgaar alternated between applying suntan lotion and fingering the neck of his guitar. Pickles seemed satisfied with Nathan’s shrug and reclined back on his chair, and after a moment Nathan did so as well, trying to capture the same air of tranquility the drummer exuded. 

He wasn’t doing a great job of it. The knot that had been in his stomach all day seemed to have tightened now, and even though it was barely 70 degrees out his skin was beaded with sweat. Worst of all, his mind was racing a mile a minute, torn between foolish excitement at the prospect of seeing Charles in person, and nerves that his earlier transgression had been found out. Desperate for a distraction, Nathan snatched a newspaper out of Murderface’s hands and brought it up to his face to read. The blown up visage of some guy with a military buzz cut stared back. 

“Hey, that’s mine!” Murderface snapped, making a grab for the stolen paper. Nathan held it out of reach, and after a few seconds of squabbling the bassist settled back down with his arms crossed. “Fine, take it, I don’t care. As long as you read about my endorsement deal. Page three,” he said, smugly. Nathan removed the section containing page three and handed it back to him with a deliberate smile before settling back against the plastic slats of his lawn chair to try and read.

It was several minutes before Offdensen finally appeared in the flesh. The pneumatic hiss of the front doors caught Nathan’s attention, and he felt his pulse pick up at the sound of Charles’ footsteps whispering across the grass. As casually as possible, he pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and sunk lower into his lawn chair, bringing the paper up until it covered the entirety of his face.

The footsteps stopped at the edge of the lawn, but no one looked up. Pickles let out a snore from his chair, while Skwisgaar’s fingers picked out a scale on the neck of his Explorer. Nathan took a long sip of his drink, until the straw sucked at ice.

“You guys ah, wanted to see me?” Charles said finally. 

Nathan held his empty glass out into the air, and it was immediately refreshed by an attending Klokateer. Charles was within his field of vision, and from behind the safety of his sunglasses Nathan allowed himself a peek. 

Charles looked, well, like Charles. Same as ever. Seeing him in person, Nathan struggled to recall why he’d been so frustrated with him in the first place, why the hologram had become so intolerable over the past few weeks. The image was still him, just a little redder, a little less tangible. Kind of annoying to look at, sure, but it was the same guy. 

Almost as though he sensed his scrutiny, Charles turned his attention toward the front man.

“Nathan? You boys doing alright out here?” He asked, and that was it -- his _voice_. His _fucking voice._ It was such a drastically different sound in person. Charles the hologram sounded fucked up, like a weird robot or a mosquito. Charles the human, live and in person, was far easier on the ears. He didn’t sound nearly as harsh, or high pitched, and there was no accompanying _buzzzzz_ whenever he stressed a vowel. 

On top of that, there was the fact that he could actually tell he had Charles’ attention. With the hologram, it seemed like the guy just talked _at_ them, unable to turn his head or make any sort of meaningful eye contact. Nathan knew from his own experiences in the body scanning chamber that it was difficult to differentiate between faces and voices at times, so it wasn’t any wonder that the manager spoke as though into the void. Not like now, in person, with Charles’ eyes and body angled toward him. It was fucking validating, having the man’s undivided attention. Nathan felt satisfied, powerful, and he found that he had no issue responding to his question.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re cool,” he said, grinning. “Hey. Did you know Murderface got in the paper?” 

Charles looked at the section Nathan had his hands on and read the title. **SPORTS.** “Ah, which one?” He asked. 

“I dunno,” Nathan rifled through the papers on his lap in search of the front page. “Uhhhhh… _The New York Times._ ”

“I see,” Charles said, and Nathan caught a note of exasperation to his tone. That was the beauty of an in-person conversation -- being able to pick up on little things like that. Fucking brutal. “Is that all?”

As though waiting for this moment, Murderface looked up and scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean? ‘Is that all?’ No, that’s not _all._ Don’t you even wanna know what it says about me?”

Charles turned his attention toward the bassist and said placidly, “Sure I do. What did the paper say about you?”

“Well, now I don’t even want to tell you,” Murderface sniffed. “Seeing as you obviously don’t give a shit about me. No one gives a fucking shit about Murderface unless he’s done something wrong, but _whoa,_ God forbid something actually goes right for once and it’s _‘Oh, is that all?’_ Fuck you.” 

“Now, William, you know that’s not true. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine.” Charles’ shoulders rose and fell with the strength of his breath, and he turned his attention back toward Nathan, who felt irrationally pleased under his gaze. “Does anyone else want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Uh uh. Don’t tells him nothings,” Skwisgaar chimed in coldly, cutting off the beginning of Nathan’s sentence. “He obvious-kly don’ts cares about us enough to knows this things, so why shoulds we clues him into it?” 

Charles grimaced and raised his voice. “Listen, guys, I’m very busy, so if one of you would just tell me what it is I’d really appreciate it so I can get back to work.” 

Murderface seemed to ruminate over the decision for a moment before conceding. “Fine. I’ll tell you. Even though you probably won’t care.” The bassist sat up a little straighter on his lawn chair and puffed out his chest. “You are looking at the new face of _Johnson & Johnson baby shampoo._” 

Charles blinked. “Johnson & Johnson. Baby shampoo. Is that right?” 

“Yup.”

“And uh, how exactly are you going to be representing them?” 

“I dunno, probably just washing babies in commercials or some shit, who cares?” 

“I see,” Charles said. That definitely didn’t sound like a lawsuit waiting to happen. Definitely not a huge mistake to put William Murderface anywhere near a child. Charles straightened his glasses and said, “Well, ah, congratulations Murderface. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go make some calls.” The first of which would be to the Dethklok PR team for not catching this story before it hit print.

Nathan sat up as Charles turned away. He felt suddenly, inexplicably panicked, as though the one opportunity he had to actually talk to the man was slipping through his fingers. But for the life of him he couldn’t figure out anything to say that would make him stay. Nathan felt his mouth moving independently of his brain, opening and closing like a fish, but no words came out -- just an unintelligent gargle that even the Klokateers ignored. Frustrated, Nathan grabbed the remainders of the newspaper in his fist and crumpled them one handed. 

Miraculously, the sound gave Charles pause. Nathan’s heart lurched as the manager turned to give them one last look, -- to give _Nathan_ one last look, and said with a knowing smile, “Oh, and by the way, the hologram system is offline for a little maintenance, so if you need to get in touch with me just call or stop by my office. Whichever.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!


End file.
